Read Online A Flight of Fancy by Laurie Alice Eakes - Free Book Online Page A

will not hate it in the least. London over the summer was quite, quite dull.” Honore launched into a list of things Lady Whittaker had promised they would do.

    Cassandra went back to sleep, and Honore woke her when the Hall was but a mile or two off so she could tidy herself.
    “You have creases on your face,” Honore announced. “And your hair is a disaster.” She smoothed a hand through her own perfectly coiffed golden locks. Even her traveling gown seemed to have remained wrinkle-free.
    Cassandra’s looked like jacquard, so many lumps and ridges had it formed without her moving. And her hair was a disaster, slipping from its pins. Good. The worse she looked, the less likely her ladyship would be to want Cassandra for a daughter-in-law.
    “I am certain she’ll understand.” Honore set her beribboned straw hat at a jaunty angle. “Lady Whittaker, I mean, as to why you look so crumpled. You have been ill, after all. I’d say you are still very much an invalid.”
    Cassandra yawned. “Do, please, say so.”
    Except how could an invalid go for the long walks she would need in order to find a place for the balloon? And how would her aeronautic friends write to her without everyone knowing? So many details. She would rather be back in Devonshire or, better yet, at Lydia’s little cottage in Tavistock. Except Lydia had sold the cottage, saying it reminded her of painful times after her husband left for the war.
    The carriage slowed. For the first time since climbing into the vehicle, Cassandra glanced out of the window. On the other side of the outriders, a high wall ran along the road. Behind it, trees towered in autumnal profusion of heavy, dark green and touches of gold where the leaves began to turn. Iron gates stood open in welcome, and a drive stretched long and straight ahead in a dim tunnel between the oaks and pines. A rather smooth and well-maintained drive for a family allegedly pinched for funds. Beneath the trees, though, lay telltale signs of neglect—piles oflast year’s moldering leaves and a tangle of brambles that would make walking through the parkland uncomfortable at best. The lawn, curving beyond the tree line, also demonstrated a lack of consistent care with irregular mowing and several bare patches.
    In contrast, the house gleamed in a blend of gray stone and red brick, mullioned windows, and shining squares of glass in creamy frames. Clean glass caught the sun like gemstones.
    “It looks old.” Honore spoke in a whisper as though the occupants could hear her. “I do hope it isn’t drafty.”
    “It’s bound to be.” Cassandra clutched her reticule containing new balloon plans, ones she had made while lying in bed for weeks.
    She stroked her reticule, this one blue velvet to match her pelisse and slippers. In the wee hours of the morning, she thought perhaps she had solved her coating problem. That left finding a place to purchase a quantity of birdlime and a cauldron and build a fire . . .
    One difficulty at a time. The current one lay before her in the form of a tall, middle-aged footman lowering the steps of the carriage and holding out his hand to her. Of course he reached out to her first. She was the elder. As far as most people knew, his future mistress of the manor. But if Honore went down first, she could distract everyone from Cassandra’s awkward descent.
    “Honore, you first,” Cassandra directed. “I do believe I’ve dropped my . . .”
    Because she could not think of anything she might have dropped, she simply bent forward as though searching. A lie. Shame on her. Lying to preserve her dignity, or what dignity remained to her.
    But not a lie. She had dropped a tear. Out of nowhere, her eyes burned and the droplet splashed onto her knee.

    “You are so slow,” Honore said brightly. Affectionately. Too brightly. Never too affectionately. For all her foolishness, she was the kindest of sisters.
    More burning, another tear.
    Cassandra dashed her sleeve across